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“We can’t risk it,” Annabeth said. “The spirits will break through!”
The ghosts made her point by rushing the front door. The fires held them at bay, but the whole house shook under the assault. Annabeth staggered, her back now against the door. The door knockers screamed and pleaded for their lives.
Annabeth tried to cross the torches by herself, but she didn’t have the strength. “Too…too heavy.”
“Hey, Wise Girl,” I said, trying to keep the panic out of my voice, “be wise. I don’t know much, but Idoknow we’re stronger together. Always.”
I’d finally found an argument Annabeth couldn’t counter. She grunted assent and let me take the torch from her left hand.
The world seemed to gutter and darken along with the torchlight. The spirits swirled around us, howling in triumph as Hecate’s power wavered.
“Hurry!” Annabeth yelled.
Standing side by side, we pulled in our torches. It was like arm-wrestling a tornado. I sensed that we had only seconds before the fires went out for good. The torches weren’t meant to be shared by two people.
Then again…Annabeth and I were more than just two people. We were a pair, and when we stood at the crossroads, we did it together. I screamed and forced my torch inward. Annabeth did the same.
Our friends kept fighting. Grover’s panpipes had stopped. I didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad one.
The flames of our torches now burned as one. Just a little more until we could cross the handles…but the torches fought us, repelling each other like same-polarity magnets.
You cannot!cried the ghost of Stuyvesant.Hecate must never—
With one final burst of strength, we crossed the torches.
A blast of white-hot energy rippled outward from the porch. The ghosts dissolved into air. The police officer slumped in his saddle. The horse freaked out and whinnied,Why am I flying?before Argus set him gently down and let him gallop away with his unconscious rider. Trash and empty costumes blew across the yard. The people Clovis had put to sleep started to wake up again.
The last ghost standing was the coal-dust cloud of Peter Stuyvesant, now without a human host. He was dissolving slowly, returning to the shadows, but he kept wailing, his angry voice turning desperate, almost heartbroken.
I cannot go, he howled.I cannot allow her to stay in my city.…
Clovis walked over to the fading ghost. He frowned at the swirling coal particles like they were the remnants of a dream—something that had made sense right until the moment he woke up.
“It’s okay, cousin,” Clovis said. “It’s a big city now. It belongs to all of us. You’ve done your part. Now you deserve a rest. Bring it in.”
Clovis embraced the ghost, and with a long sigh, Stuyvesant let go and dissolved.
Connor Stoll sauntered toward us, grinning happily. His manacles must have come off in the melee.
“You guys sure know how to throw a party!” he said. “Can we come in now, or what?”
I’m not going to say it was a wild party—not as wild as fighting the dead, anyway.
But it was agoodparty, because we were still alive and with our friends. The Apollo cabin provided the tunes, compliments of Austin Lake and his mega-tech portable sound system. We even convinced him to play some pop instead of freestyle jazz fusion, which was his normal go-to. Connor supplied snacks and beverages. I was pretty sure they’d been pilfered from the camp commissary, but I wasn’t going to complain since it limited the wear and tear on Hecate’s kitchen.
The nymphs and satyrs brought the boogie. Dryads can dance fordays, which is not what you might expect from evergreens and shrubbery. The satyrs busted moves that would’ve been impressive in any German disco. Grover played his panpipes along with some of the songs—kind of a new sound for the Weeknd tracks, but he made it work.
Meanwhile, Argus stayed by the entrance, glowering and making sure things didn’t get out of hand. We were used to him being our chaperone, so that was cool. A few times, trick-or-treaters even knocked on the front door. How they found the house through the Mist, I’m not sure, but they all complimented us on the wild talking door knockers. Argus gave the kids candy from our stash and sent them on their way before they could ask too many questions about his bare-chested, hundred-eyed aviator costume.
The animals seemed to enjoy themselves. The moray eels only returned to their tank after showing us their favorite line dances and being bribed with extra helpings of frozen fish. Hecuba turned out to be a Beyoncé fan, judging from how she howled during “Texas Hold’Em.” Gale got into a long conversation with Juniper about the amazing potions one could make out of juniper oil. Nope made dozens of new friends and managed not to pee on any of them. Maybe that was something he only did with his favorite trio.
I was sorry Mrs. O’Leary wasn’t here. Seeing her so briefly on Tuesday had just made me miss her more, but I guess it was for the best. I wasn’t sure Hecuba and Mrs. O’Leary would’ve gotten along. Two dog mamas in one house might have caused problems. I told myself I would see my hellhound friend soon enough in California. I had to stay optimistic.
Most importantly, we managed to have a good time without re-trashing the manse. The only damage that occurred was when Valentina Diaz demonstrated her pearl necklaces of death and took out a light fixture. Thankfully, Harley was able to fix it—it’s always good to have the Hephaestus cabin around.
“Who are you supposed to be, anyway?” I asked Valentina.
She looked at me like I was from Mars. “Coco Chanel, obviously! Scariest problematic fashion icon ever. Boo!”
